


Aria's Girl

by hotot



Series: Nymesis [2]
Category: Mass Effect Trilogy
Genre: AU, Alternate Universe, Exploitation, F/M, Gen, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Origin Story, Shotguns and Krogan, Slavery, Slice of Life, Vanguard (Mass Effect)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-12
Updated: 2016-02-27
Packaged: 2018-05-19 22:04:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 13
Words: 12,665
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5982328
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hotot/pseuds/hotot
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Getting adopted by Aria T'Loak is probably not the best way to start out life as an orphan, but it's not the worst either. </p><p>Nym Shepard is the lone survivor of a slaver attack on Mindoir, and grew up wild on Omega. Later she almost joined the Alliance. She was almost the Hero of the Skyllian Blitz. She was almost a Council Specter. But the universe seems to have other plans. Or maybe it's because this Shepard just can't deal.</p><p>Aria's POV, switching to Shepard's as a teen. This is an AU Shepard if she had an "Omega" origin, and an Mass Effect 1 happened -without- her.  Want more OmegaShep, and some bonus Archangel action? Check out "So You'll Aim Towards the Sky," the next installment in the Nymesis series.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Author's Note: This is a bit sloppy right now. Mostly this fic is a writing exercises and brainstorming process (proof of concept??) for Nym's backstory and this AU in general. Still, it might be interesting for those who want more about where Nym came from. I will do minor edits and re-writes of Aria's Girl at some point but right now I just wanted to get through her childhood so I can move on to the main event... the time between ME1 and ME2 when she meets a certain turian.

####   ** _2160 CE: Age 6, Omega_**

“You’re sure about the biotics? I thought they didn’t manifest in humans until puberty.” The asari lounged in a high backed armchair she’d taken from the captain's berth of a liberated freighter-- apparently the Captain had been into antiques. The lux red velvet was unique on Omega, and sang against her brilliantly indigo complexion. The asari’s eyes were hard and hungry, fixed on the bundle of thermal blanket that was being offered for her inspection.

“I saw it myself. Threw a dead body across the prefab and dented a hole in the wall. The corpse’s head burst like a _kravth_.” The batarian who spoke grimaced at the memory. “Triggered by trauma, probably.” The batarian was one step away from groveling as he held the bundle. “Mindoir was a nightmare, even by batarian standards. Those slavers are gonna be a problem if they ever decide to hit Omega.”

She twitched the blanket aside and looked at its contents, ignoring his tactical appraisal. “It’s cute. I think I’ll keep it.”  
  
“It’s not a pet, Aria. It's a human. You should let me sell it.”

Aria T’loak fixed her lieutenant with a cold, blue stare. “It is what I say it is, Vak. It’s fucking cute, and I’m keeping it. Shut the fuck up and bring it around.”

Vak grumbled something untranslatable, but deposited the bundle on the floor at Aria’s feet. They were in a private room a few districts over from Afterlife, one of Aria’s bolt-holes that she kept not for herself, but for meetings like this-- away from the pounding drone of music, drugs and violence that was Afterlife. Not far off was her bunker.

The body in question was a small human. A child, probably five or six years old. She had brown skin and deep red hair. It was an unusual coloring combination in humans, but the red was so dark it was almost brown. Russet, it was called. Or auburn. Aria settled the female human on the chair beside her’s in a seated position, like a doll, tossing the blanket aside. The child’s head lolled to the side, and her eyes were closed. Aria wondered what color the child’s eyes were. Probably brown Or perhaps blue, if the hair was an indication of recessive genes.

Vak had a bandage on his hand, crusted with blood. The batarian was clearly at loath to continue to have anything more to do with the child, which made Aria want to keep him around. The merc pressed a hypo to the child’s neck and she shifted, but didn’t wake.

“Fuck, Vak. DId you use an entire tranq on her?” The batarian looked nervous-- more nervous. “She’s a baby!”

“She was wild, Aria, you should have seen how we found her. She was hiding, under this crate with some adult bodies piled on top. Obviously they bodies had been put there after they’ed died… someone was protecting her. A mother, or father probably. When we got it out, the kid was screaming and raging, and it fucking bit me. I thought it’d be afraid of Batarians after what the slavers did, but she wasn’t.”  
  
“An overactive adrenal response caused by trauma.” Aria looked at the groggy child fondly-- a child reborn in blood and freedom, from the dead bodies of her parents. The biotic response was not something that could be repeated without serious trauma, but it was a sign that pointed to future power. Luckily, humans matured quickly, so her investment would have a rapid turn-around.

Slowly the child came to, eyes opening slowly, gummed shut by exhaustion, tranquilizers, and tears. She blinked a few times in the harsh light. Her eyes were a flinty sort of color, blue-gray, and almond shaped, more tilted than any asari’s.

“What is your name?"

The girl stared at Aria. “Nymesis Shepard. Nym. Where am I?”  
  
“Omega.”  
  
The child didn’t react. Maybe she didn’t know what Omega was. She was dead-eyed and wary, gaze flicking from Vak to Aria and back a few times, little mouth working to regain moisture. Aria snapped, pointing to the bar. Vak hopefully had enough brain power not to bring booze. Aria was never sure how Batarians cared for their young.

“My parents are dead.” It wasn’t a question. “Where’s my brother? Micha. He hid me.” A flicker of feeling, then.

“He’s dead, too. You’re the only one who was strong enough to survive. Vak found you when he was scavenging your colony, after the slavers stole or killed everyone. Do you understand?”  
  
She took the news stoically, nodding her head. It was a good sign. She looked was frail and serious, like a little old man. “I’m not strong. My brother hid me. That’s why I’m alive.” She was starting to get agitated now, less like a tiny adult and more like what Aria imagined human babies to be like: screwing up her face as it went red. Goddess, or whatever, humans, even brown ones, were so pink. “I’m alive and he’s dead!” Tears. Great. Tears, but also rage. That’s what Aria liked to see. “He’s dead! He’s dead he’s dead!”

The tranq was wearing off and now Aria could see why Vak had drugged her so heavily. The screaming continued, and Aria stood up and paced to the other side of the room while the child-- Nymesis-- Nym, she’d said her name was, threw her temper tantrum.  
  
“Want me to drug her again?” Vak asked, awkwardly holding a cup of water. Aria scoffed. Batarians. No appreciation for a good fit of rage. Batarians might have the market cornered on unpleasantness as a race, but they also lacked imagination and thus their danger was of a bland malevolence rather than the feral viciousness of the Vorcha or the intelligent unpredictability of humans.

“Shut up, Vak.”

“Yes boss.”

Yes, this one would do nicely.

Poor, damaged, powerful thing she was going to be. Aria had a habit of collecting strays, orphan children with particular talents, and this one would be her crowning jewel. Such a sweet, pretty child, who would obviously grow into an impressive woman-- and with biotics manifested at such a young age? There were nasty rumors going around about how the Alliance and Cerberus were treating their biotic children, and Aria would not let such precious potential be waisted.

Aria was never wrong about potential-- she’d been grooming people, young people, for over a century. She had a perfect eye for talent. She’d groom this little human biotic carefully, and give her the tools she’d need to be a perfect leader. She’d teach this little one things about power and pleasure, about improvisation and might, information and command. And more mundane things too-- hacking and coding. Yes, those little human hands were useful, and  as the old asari adage went, “ _a maiden cannot live on biotics alone_.” Already, a perfect outline for the child’s education began to bloom in her mind, a combination of stealth, combat training, and intensive biotics. 

And she’d get Patriarch to babysit. That would be hilarious.


	2. Chapter 2

**2160 CE: Age 6, Omega**

The girl was stubborn and scared, grieving as only a child could grieve. A human child indeed was not a pet, and didn’t play nice-- acting out, breaking things with the crack of biotics, screaming. Sometimes it fascinated Aria, but mostly Nym Shepard just got in the way. Perhaps raising a child in a nightclub was not the most advisable life decision.

Vak had been right, and it bugged the hell out of her. She needed help. What was that human saying? “It took a village.” In this case, it would take Omega to raise this child right.

Nym Shepard was currently curled on the couch that served as Aria’s dias in Afterlife, having exhausted herself into blessed sleep from another crying fit. Aria sat imperiously as always, one arm spread protectively along the back of the couch where her tiny human slept. If any of her lackies thought it odd that she’d adopted a human child, no one said a damn thing. You had to be pretty stupid to question Aria after all, and she didn’t make a habit of employing stupid people.

There were way-homes down in Gozu, places for runaways and orphans that offered relatively safe from being sold into the various sorts of slavery that Omega harbored. The better ones did, anyway. Aria could send Nym there to be raised by the streets, but she didn't want Omega to raise the child quite so _literally._ Aria wasn’t a stranger there, though. Children, mostly batarian and human, ran wild and dirty, but Aria had always provided both protection and funding for the orphanage so long as the organizers promised to look after her her chosen children, and send her the kids who showed particular talents, especially for spying, hacking, and running messages. Of course, any biotic was sent to her immediately no matter the race. Sometimes small hands were just better, and young minds were so… malleable. 

Well, most young minds. Nym was an exception, though. Her mind was bright and brittle, and only time would tell how damaged the girl truly was. Omega’s pirate queen had on more than one occasion considered trussing her up and shipping her to some kind of ward-estate on Thessia, or finding a multispecies school to send her to. When a human frigate had docked to refuel on Omega, Tak had suggested she hand the girl over to the Alliance, and she’d nearly fired him. The Alliance was out of the question. They wouldn’t get their hands on her. Not ever. Someone would have to see to her education as Nym grew… so quickly, by asari standards! But right now, she wanted the child close. 

She wanted to raise Nym right. 

“Patriarch.” It had been a joke before. The Krogan himself was a joke, an old shell of someone who had once been great. But who better to entrust a child to than a Krogan, provided she could get him to commit to Nym’s care and protection. He’d need support too, probably a human to assist with the basic needs of biology, physiology and behavior. She’d have to drill it into his head that this little human, while fierce, was fragile. She didn’t have a redundant set of organs to fall back on if she got hurt. 

“Bring me the Patriarch.”

“Right away, boss.” Aria stared off into the vaguely neon-lit darkness of her domain, thinking. Her indigo hand drifted down to stroke Nym’s hair, smoothing it away from her smudged and dirty face. While she waited for the Krogan to get his sorry ass up to the dias, she made a call to one of her contacts who pooled talent for her. That was how Omega worked: Aria wanted something, and she got it, easy as breathing.

“I need… someone. Female. Human. Immediately available on a permanent basis. Able to keep up with the basic, day to day needs of a young child.” 

“You need a nanny?” The voice on the other end of the comm was incredulous.

“Is that what humans call it? Yes. I need that. She’ll have to pass clearance. We’ll be seeing a lot of each other.” There was no official security or clearance on Omega, of course. What Aria meant is that she, Aria, would have to like whoever was sent over. And for Aria to like someone, they had to be smart, and know how to keep their mouth shut. She trusted her people to make the right choice. Aria was not a difficult woman to understand, after all. Mostly because most of the people who had a habit of misunderstanding her were dead.

She and the woman on the other end of the comm bartered for a bit about pay and arrangements. Aria agreed to terms eventually. Nym would have a protector and Patriarch, and a caretaker in this new human woman. Aria would be her mentor and her guide. Omega would be her playground.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A handful of drabbles imagining Shep's early life on Omega. Taking prompts for more of these as I'm currently out of ideas.

**2160-2165 CE: Scenes from an Omega Childhood**

She likes playing with the children in Gozu and though she’s smaller than the other kids, a following has sprung up around her. She’s tough, and she’s creative, and the bullies are all afraid of her.

Her best friend is a turian girl named Forean. The two of them are inseparable when Nym goes to Gozu. Forean follows Nym around and they play “Smugglers and Specters” and they boss around their gang of friends, delivering cool orders to their troops like generals in the heat of battle.

Nym is always the Specter.

~~~

She gets caught stealing for the first time, from an electronics store.

Patriarch brings her back to Aria’s throne room, dragging the girl by one thin arm. The child is fighting back passively, being dragged along on unmoving feet by the krogan who is ten times her size.

She’s sorry she stole things but she won’t say who helped her or why she was stealing. It didn’t matter if it was for her own amusement or if someone had put her up to it.

Aria is scowling, but waved her hand in dismissal of both the child and the krogan.

“Steal. Cheat. Lie, I don’t care. ” Her voice grew bored, world weary. “Just don’t get caught.”

Later, Nym finds an omnitool sitting on her pillow, preloaded with a hacking module and a list of places she should try to steal from.

~~~

She wandering around Gozu, looking for her friend Forean, who had moved to a different way house a station standard month ago, and it hadn’t been going well. She hasn’t seen Forean in a week, even though there were tons of ships from the Traverse coming to the docks that they could watch. She and Forean always competed to see who could dream up the cooler ship as they watched the smugglers and commandos make deals among their cargo.

Other kids were missing too. Nym begins her career as a self appointed detective.

~~~

Nym is ten. She is laying on her back in her new hideout above the causeway.

“Reanmank means ‘Four Eyes Gaze Unto Heaven.’” The batarian kid’s four eyes stare at Nym instead.

“What does your name mean, Nym?” another pipes up.

“Nym is short for Nymph. My mom said it’s like a spirit that lived in a tree back on ancient Earth." She's lying about what Nym is short for because she can't remember anymore. She thinks it was a nickname. "Shepard is a kind of farmer that herds sheep and keeps them safe from bad guys.”

Reanmank’s translator is not a very good one. “I dunno what 'herds sheep' is, or a 'tree back.' But Shepard is a cool name. Where's your mom?”

"Dead. Slavers killed her. And my dad. And my brother. The slavers were batarians."

"Oh..." Reanmank’s translator parced that just fine.

~~~

It took her a few weeks of socializing and taming, but she finally convinced the varen puppy that now follows her everywhere that she is a friend, and not food. She has a bite on her arm, and some raw steaks in a bag. She’s bleeding, and dirty, but happy when when Aria walks in on her playing with the puppy in the converted docking hangar that Nym calls home.

Aria is not happy. “You aren’t keeping the varen.”

“What? Why not?” Nym raises her chin, not letting Aria see her fear. She should have been more careful, and now she's going to lose her pet.

“It’s disgusting.”

“I’ll keep him in the hanger-- You won't even have to see him!” She tries not to beg, because Aria thinks begging is weakness and Aria hates weakness.

“If I see it, I’ll shoot it.”

“You won’t see him.”

~~~

The human slaves are waiting in line, getting checked into the station core refinery. Nym sits on a crate, watching them. Many are human, like her, and she wonders if one of them might be her mother. But Aria and Vak had both claimed her mother was killed on Mindoir and not taken as a slave. Nym sometimes believes them, and sometimes does not.

She counts the number of humans in the line. Thirty seven.

They shuffle along, collars around their necks with their eyes dead and defeated. Some even look… content. That it what it means not to have choices.

“Move it, kid. You’ll end up in line if you don’t watch yourself.” The batarian overseer leers at her, and she hopps down to face him, glaring.

“One day, I’m going to kill every slaver in the Galaxy.” He tries to grab her, and she runs away, disappearing into the maintenance catwalks and hiding away before he can catch her.

“Fuckin’ human duct rat,” the slaver mumbles, but returns to his charges. Nym watches from below his feet.

~~~

The asari Justicar has huge breasts, and Nym wonders if she uses biotics to hold them in place. Nym is fascinated as she watches the blue-skinned woman strip the batarian’s body of weapons and explosives.

“I didn’t need your help,” she says, still blatantly staring. “I can crush a batarian’s head like ripe fruit!” Her biotics only manifested when she was angry though, and she wasn’t so much angry when the man had grabbed her and dragged her towards a shuttle, as afraid. She’d never admit she’d been afraid though.

“The batarian was going to take you as a slave, child,” the woman says. She has huge blue eyes the same color as Aria’s, but the Justicar’s eyes are deep and soft where Aria’s eyes are hard and shallow.

“Come, child. I hear there is one good place to eat asari noodles on Omega, and you must know where it is.”

Nym leads the asari to the food stall in Tuhi district. She finds herself telling the Justicar about her family who died on Mindoir, though she can no longer remember their faces. She tells her how she’s Aria’s girl, and how Aria as the one that protected her from slavers now. That dead batarian was new to Omega. He didn’t know she was Aria’s girl. The Justicar keeps stopping to fight small injustices, and Shepard helps. She gets to fire a pistol.

The next time she plays with her gang in Gozu, Shepard is a Justicar.

~~~

Nym’s gang is growing in size as their leader grows in age. They run pranks, steal for fun and profit, and play games, running dirty and wild and even some adults are afraid of them. That’s Shepard, they say of Nym. That’s Aria’s girl. And then they check their pockets.

But Nym has a private agenda. Nym is looking for the slavers who took her friend Forean.

She never finds out what happened to her friend, but she finds out a lot about slavers as she investigates how they work, how they use and abuse Omega’s secrets. She learns that kids disappear all the time, and no one seems to care. She learns that knowing your enemy makes them less terrifying. She learns that's she's angry, but she's not old enough to do anything with that anger yet.

Nym Shepard decided that she will become an expert on anger and fear.


	4. Chapter 4

**2165 CE: Age 11, Omega**

Four years was not a long measure of time for an asari. Aria was no Matriarch (yet), but her middling age gave her perspective on a few things. One of which was that human children grew up very fast. Another of which was that they were much more willful than asari children.

The first three nannies had lasted all of a week each. Nym bit the first one, and then vomited on her during a temper tantrum. She’d quit. Another didn’t ge along with Patriarch. That had been an understatement, actually. Patriarch had tried to kill her. Aria herself ended up killing the third, shooting her point blank when she’d found the woman skimming data and credits. But finally she found a good caregiver in Anika. The human woman was quiet but firm, and most importantly, not squeamish about Patriarch, or Aria, or the Omega lifestyle. And she was honest. Mostly. In the end, Nym got two mothers and a very protective krogan father. Four years went by in a flash of trouble, and Aria was still the Queen. 

Eleven now, the girl was tall for her age, and gangly, seemingly to be made mostly of knees, elbows. She was not beautiful as Aria had hoped, but Anika had assured her that human children often went through an awkward stage, and the time between puberty and adulthood was a difficult one, marked by rebellion and anxiety as the human frontal lobe developed, telling a child to start differentiating herself from her caregivers, asserting individuality and learning to make independent choices.

Aria had other things to worry about, besides human brain development, however. Currently that thing she had to deal with was that there was a Council Specter was on her space station. Specter authority went further than other forms of power on Omega, but she still didn’t like it. Saren Arterius was a turina asshole of galactic proportions, and he wanted something. From her. As if she had anything to offer the likes of him. 

Nym was locked deep into a simulator game on her omnitool when the Specter mounted the dias. The child’s feet were kicked up on the back of the couch and her head hanging down towards the floor, but when Saren growled Aria’s name Nym looked up from the game, mouth hanging open as she took in the massively imposing figure that stood before them.

Aria’s scanners went mad, droning about the amount of firepower that the Specter had on his person. Frag grenades, two rifles, a pistol, several types of ammo and-- he’d been busy playing with cybernetics. Interesting. The Specter was alone, unsurprisingly, and the arrogant steel-skinned turian was smiling. Aria really didn’t like it when Specters smiled.

“Saren ‘I’m an asshole’ Arterius,” She drawled. Nym had rolled into a sitting position and was watching the Specter, stock still.

“Aria Fucking T’loak.” 

She hated when people used her middle name. “What did Omega do to garner the attention of the Council’s rabid dog?”

His raptor’s eyes slipped from Aria to Nym, ignoring her opener. “I didn’t know you had a taste for human, Omega Bitch.”

“I didn’t know you cared.”

Nym’s eyes were huge, fixed on the turian-- the same steely color as Saren’s facial plates, Aria noted. There was a tense pause. Aria was languid, smiling faintly. Saren’s mandible's gave a hearty twitch and then stilled. 

“What do you want, Saren? Make it quick, though, because I’m not impressed by Specters. I don’t like anyone who needs permission from their government to be killer. Do it for money, or glory, but for fuck’s sake, don’t do it for the Council.” Each word was elocute, like a pebble dropped into a still pool. 

“I didn’t come to talk Council politics.”

“Thank god. I’d be forced to shoot you. What do you want?”

“Blue Suns. Human arms trading. Attack on Sidon. Start talking.”

Aria’s smile was brittle. “Couldn’t we have done this over a comm? You’re scaring my little girl.” She pulled Nym closer, feeling a surge of pride as the girl bared her teeth in the mockery of a smile. 

“Disgusting.” His flanging bass voice was laden with contempt, and Aria noted with a flair of curiosity… some fear. Did Saren have a human phobia? Fascinating. Things hung by a thread, and she palmed the panic button on her omnitool, hiding the movement by stroking Nym’s hair. The child, goddess bless her, rested her head on Aria’s shoulder and smiled up at the Specter.

“You’re in the wrong part of the Galaxy, Saren. Sidon is in turian space.”

“You keep tabs on Blue Suns operations. I need a name.”

“And what do I get? I already have a name.” Saren scoffed, and Nym giggled. 

She heard heavy steps, and Patriarch mounted the dias, flanked by some of his men. The old Krogan wasn’t an enforcer so much as a symbol, and right now he was a symbol of “make this quick or you’re going to get shot.” Nym sat up, watching the scene unfold. 

Patriarch sighed. “This guy bothering you, Aria?” 

“Shut up, Patriarch. Watch and listen.”

Nym leaned forward, her hair a red nimbus around her small face. “He’s a Specter, pop,” she informed the Krogan. Aria didn’t like the gleam in Nym’s eyes. A Specter should not inspire fascination, but contempt. 

No one ever said raising a child right was going to be easy. 

Saren looked delightfully nonplussed. Keeping a kid around did wonders for confusing her enemies. “I didn’t expect child-rearing to be a hobby of yours. She’d be worth more as a slave”

Nym stiffened beside her. “I like to indulge my maternal instincts-- but that is irrelevant at the moment. Now, Saren. I’ll give you the name if you give me some data in return. I know you have clearance.”

“I could just torture you.”

“I could just lie. Assuming you could lay a hand on me. You’ve had a scope on you since getting off your shuttle, you know.” Her snipers had had guns on him since he’d docked, actually, and one was waiting for her word to put a hole in his brain right now.. 

Saren drew his pistol and examined it carefully, then raised it with a casual sort of grace, and fired a shot. The sniper in the catwalks screamed, and Nym went very still at her side.

“What’s the data?”

Aria smiled, not letting herself feel the loss of her sniper just yet, because now blood had been spilled and the negotiations were making progress. She’d been trying to get an angle on this particular topic that didn’t involve the Alliance for months now. “Biotic implants for humans.” 

Saren thought for a moment, then made a few gestures on his omnitool. “Here’s a contact. If the names you give me are good, you’ll get the access codes.” She verified, and gave him a name.

“Fine. Groto Ib-ba. He made a pretty penny on the Sidon contract without doing jack shit. I’d check some brothels near Sidon. Looks like you could use some unwinding yourself.”

“No thanks.”

“I wasn’t offering, Specter. I prefer women. Now, get off my station.” Saren did just that. It seemed he couldn’t leave fast enough. 

“Aria…” Nym’s voice was small, her face pulled together in concentration. “That Specter didn’t seem to like us very much.”

“Saren Arterius is a racist despot on the Council’s leash. He’d kill you just for fun. Because you’re human. Didn’t you learn about the Relay 314 Incident yet? Saren was a big damn hero who lost his brother, and now he hates humans.”

“Batarians killed my brother, but I don’t hate batarians.”

“That’s because you’re a good girl. You know people are useful, no matter what race.” She turned to the krogan, who was waiting dutifully for orders. “Patriarch, take Nym to her lessons. And someone clean up that sniper before he he starts dripping gore on a customer!” Her throne room was suddenly a flurry of activity. 

Her resistance was predictable as Patraiach dragged her away. Her voice carried over the music, complaining about how she’d already finished the level three combat sims. “Can I at least start level four today?”

“You are not ready. You’ll get crushed like a little pyjack.”

“I’m not a pyjack! Pleeeeeasee….” 

“No.”

“Please, please, please?”

“Shut up, pyjack. You’re still level three,”

“But…” Their bickering voices faded, swallowed by the club music.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After meeting a Council Specter, Aria worries that her adoptive daughter is star-struck and drafts some guidelines for 11-year-old Nym to live by.

**Aria’s Rules**

Killing is your choice. Never let someone else dictate when and how you do, or do not kill.  
Steal. Cheat. Lie. Just don’t get caught.  
Your reputation is your armor.  
Loyalty is more valuable than credits.  
You cannot control an honest man. Encourage deviousness.  
If you must move quickly, act alone. If you want to win, command a team.  
Never do yourself what you can scare someone else into doing it for you.  
If it’s vital to your survival, do it yourself.  
Know your environment, and use it.  
Know your people, and use them.  
Do not be seen putting in effort.  
Don’t let race or politics influence your opinions of others-- distrust and disrespect everyone in the galaxy equally.  
Always have an exit strategy.  
Don’t play favorites.  
Don’t fuck with Aria.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Being raised by Aria is kind of like if Miranda's dad ran the Subject Zero project, with less experiments and more extortion. Timeline with BAaT and Conatix Industries might not be perfect, but this is AU so who cares! \o/

**2167 CE: Age 13, Omega**

The amp surgery went well, and quickly. Aria had no doubt that it would, of course. She's gotten names from Saren's data and paid for the best, and that was what she was going to get. 

The human doctor came out of the sterile room, removing her red-stained gloves. “She should be awake in a few hours. L2s are risky business, but now that the surgery’s done, I’d give there’s a 75% percent chance that it’ll take without major complications.”

“Good,” Aria purred. 

“I’m impressed-- her nervous system is incredibly responsive, and her adrenal gland is… a powerhouse.”

“That’s my little girl,” Aria said with a smile. “Now, do you have everything you need? You’re not leaving until Nym is back on her feet.”

“Uh…” the doctor’s eyes went wide. 

“And if she’s not back on her feet, I'll shoot you. Once she’s healed, I may keep you on, anyway.” Saren’s Specter authority had gotten her into some very interesting databases. Namely Conatix research. She handed the doctor a datapad. “I’d like you to track down some other implants, and someone who knows about gene therapy. Vak, keep an eye on her.” She left the observation room, flanked by her bodyguards. 

~~~

“Again.”

“Come on, Aria!” 

Nym Shepard was seated on a mat Aria’s a private hangar, wrestling with a blue orb of dark energy. Aria could see the girl sweating from where she sat with Patriarch and Ankia. She was supposed to be a powerful biotic, not this weak, mewling thing! Humans lacked focus.

“Again!”

Nym had just let her biotic orb fizzle and die for the third time. She was doing it on purpose. “I’m not asari!” the child shot back. The child felt that Aria was pushing her too hard, forcing her to do things that weren’t possible. Nym scratched at the new implant at the back of her neck, no doubt itching with energy. The procedure had been painful for her and dangerous, but Aria knew it that risk was its own reward.

“Damn right you’re not asari. That’s why you have to work harder. What I want is my girl, the girl I know that crushed a slaver’s head with biotics at the age of six. You have power, or you have control, but you can’t seem to wrap your little brain around how to combine those things. Learn. Do. Don’t fail.” There was no praise there, only expectation of perfection. It was just one front on the war that she and Nym waged endlessly, the will of a pubescent human matched against a centuries old asari matron. 

Nym made another ball of dark energy, frowning deeply as she shut her eyes, tears began to pool and leak from the corners of her eyes.

“Aren’t you pushing her a little hard, Aria?” The krogan was too soft on the girl-- but tapping Patriarch to serve as Nym’s guardian had been a stroke of genius at the time. Now she was growing and needed harsher handling, it was getting annoying. The two had bonded deeply, and Aria often wondered if the Nym wasn’t actually a krogan trapped in the body of a gangly human girl-- she had the same dark sense of humor and fits of rage that were only matched by her passion for mayhem. She was a good girl, but she wasn’t strong enough. Not yet. Patriarch was coddling her. 

Anika leaned on the rail, a bag of snacks at the ready for after the training session. 

Nym was getting too old for juice and cookies-- but the thought was interrupted as Nym collapsed. 

“Aria!” Anika was over the rail and at Nym’s side, calling to her. “Aria, she’s bleeding.”

Aria followed, and peered into Nym’s face. There was blood pouring from her nose. 

“Get that damn doctor in here to adjust the amp. Again.” She let Anika handle the cleanup. “You’ll get it, Nym. Push through the pain.” And if this doctor couldn't fix the problems, she'd shoot her and find another, just like the nannies.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sweet 16: If you love someone, let them go.

**2170 CE: Age 16, Omega**

By the time Shepard was 16, she’d run away from Omega a total of fifteen times. Aria had been counting. Of course, it wasn't really running away, because Aria always knew Nym would come back. There was safety here: food, money, training. There was nothing for her to escape, yet every time the girl left Omega, Aria worried that she wouldn't come back. So she took matters into her own hands.

What was that asinine human expression: If you love someone, let them go. 

~~~

Nym stood, blindfolded in the hangar and apartments that had been her home for the past ten years. Aria hadn’t allowed her into the hanger for a week for reasons untold, but now, Nym thought wryly she was about to find out why. 

“I understand that the age of 16 is an important one for humans. A rite of passage.” Aria’s voice was cool and precise. “You need to stop running away. If I can’t get you to do that with my desire alone, I will make it so you cannot run away.”

Nym’s heart sank. Maybe she was finally going to implant that control chip after all. It was one of Aria’s little jokes that Nym worried was actually a threat. She tensed to run, but cool fingers found her cheek and patted her gently. The blindfold came off, and Nym let out a strangled cry as she saw what was taking up the front half of the hanger. It was a scout ship, a tiny thing, barely ten meters. She raced forward to touch the bulkhead, gleaming dully in the hanger’s harsh lighting. 

“You have to learn to fly it.”

“I’ll learn.”

“It’s not registered.” 

“I’ll fake the ID codes,” she said hastily. 

The shuttle was not pretty. Nothing on Omega was pretty. But it was something that was hers. She could of course see the hook that was attached to this gift, track the long string back to Aria and her delight in control, clever bitch she was. 

Nym interfaced with the ship’s VI and downloaded the flight manual and specs, reading hungrily. This was the perfect ship for her. Provided she could find a frigate or carrier with a hangar bay that would haul her, she could get anywhere in the Galaxy. Ship to ground travel would be easy. She could even get around Omega on it-- hire herself as one of Omegas many freelance cabbies when she needed extra money, or was looking for something to do.

Brilliant. 

“Thanks, Aria.”

“Oh, Patriarch got you a little something, too. He’s sorry he couldn’t be here. Had to meet some new krogan and tell them the deal. You know how it is.” Nym did indeed know. Pop was always busy dancing to Aria’s tune. Aria said hop and pop asked ‘how high?’ Aria pressed a small case into her hands, and Nym grinned. She knew what this was. 

Flipping open the catch, she found a pistol-- the stamp on the muzzle marked it as Elanus Risk Control. A little ship, a little gun. 

Nym was… what was that asinine Earth expression? Over the moon.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nym goes to Earth and gets a parking ticket.
> 
> “You can’t park it on the beach.”
> 
> “Why not?”
> 
> “It’s not allowed.” 
> 
> “I don’t see why not. There’s plenty of room.” 
> 
> "..."
> 
> "What happens if I don’t move my shuttle?”
> 
> “The city will move it for you you, and you’ll have to pay a substantial amount of money to get it back.” She didn’t know what he meant by ‘the city’-- how could a city move a shuttle? And how could she pay a city to get it back?

**2171 CE: Age 17, Earth**

Since getting her shuttle, Shepard had stopped running away. How could she run away if it was permitted that she leave? She traveled extensively, and disappeared without telling anyone fairly regularly, but that wasn’t “running away.” She never left with the intent to escape Omega or Aria, anyway. There was nothing to escape from-- her wandering the Terminus systems with her shuttle and her gun was an act of defiance, seeking a sense of adventure and a need for risk. Not that Omega lacked risk, but it was just common, everyday danger. Omega was predictable-- Aria provided for her and people knew her. She had to go places she wasn’t known. 

Still, Shepard always came back home-- except this one time she almost didn’t.

The trip to the human homeworld was grueling. She’d managed to pay for passage and shuttle storage by working swab and maintenance on the lower decks and constantly tweaking her translator to keep up with new alien dialects, keeping her biotics hidden for fear of being exploited. Human bioitcs were unusual, and she didn’t need to get kidnapped by some sinister shadow government that preyed on them.  
.  
She ended up on the Citadel, which was basically the worst place she’d ever seen. It was all order and light-- it never got dark, and you couldn’t get lost if you tried. And the elevators took forever, and you had to _pay_ for them. The one redeeming feature of the Citadel was that she met two quarians on their pilgrimage. She learned a lot from these quarians, and in a way felt kindred with them-- she told them about losing her home colony and her family to slavers when she was just a child, hardly more than a toddler. But she still remembered. It wasn’t really the same as losing a homeworld five generations previous, but there was enough shared experience there that the three of them became closely bonded and very much of the us-against-the-Council-races in mindset. 

Nym had seen enough of the Citadel to last a lifetime. 

The quarians taught her some tricks for hitching rides on starships in Council space, and showed her some things about shuttle maintenance and repair. They were great at the salvage shops, and Nym was fascinated with what could be done with a frequency modulator, a motor, and a little bit of power in terms of home-grown security. She’d never slept more soundly, tucked away in the birth of her shuttle than when she’d hooked up the DIY zapper into the VI and let it run. 

She caught a ride on a civilian cruiser, working in the mess. Earth wasn’t a long trip, but she missed the quarians along the way, and she was… nervous to touch down on earth. It wasn’t anything specific-- Nym had been on enough planets to know that she’d be shuffled through immigration and summarily ignored as just one more citizen going about her business. She wasn’t actually special, and thanks to Aria’s training, she had enough control to hide bioitcs so they weren’t a risk. 

Immigration was a nightmare. Nym picked a random city that sounded cool and was on the ocean and somewhat equatorial-- she really wanted to see a lot of water in one place and not be cold while doing it-- and and ended up in Rio de Janeiro. “Human” was what she put on her bio ID, though it felt wrong. They held her forever, asking her questions about her history outside of Alliance space, and if she needed asylum. Notes were made about Mindoir. She didn’t talk about Aria. She was just a human who’d never been to earth. No family. Not seeking residence. She just wanted to see the ocean and try this thing called “tacos.”

They let her and her shuttle through customs, and Shepard took her first steps on Earth soil-- her first steps on human owned land since she was five years old and her brother had hid her under the dead bodies of their family to keep her from being killed herself.

Rio was a mega-city, snaking from the coast and insidiously into mountains-- Nym had studied a map. But the reality of its size could not be conveyed by holo images and vids. She stood outside of immigration, and stared. There was sun, and sky. There was air, real and touched by the breath of trees. And as she turned, she saw it, the huge stretch of water that yawned out in forever, impossibly blue. The Atlantic. 

She had to get there.

~~~

The water was salty-- the wikis said Earth’s water contained saline and other minerals in vast quantities, but Shepard hadn’t been prepared for what that actually meant. She’d parked her shuttle on the beach and ran down to the surf, stripping off boots and rolling up her jumpsuit at the legs and arms before she stopped caring as the water hit her knees. She fell to her hands laughing, and got a mouthful of the salty water, wild red hair getting soaked. 

Water. She loved water. This planet had so much water! And it was safe for her biology-- nothing horrible that could burn or poison her. These people sunbathing and playing a game with a ball and a net were so clueless-- she hated them. But she loved this water.

A few soldiers in black shirts went jogging by, churning sand in their combat boots, dog tags jingling and their laughter teasing the girl in the spacesuit splashing in the waves like it was her first time seeing the ocean. 

“Fuck you!” she hollered as one of them gave a cheeky wave and disappeared down the beach.

“Excuse me… is that your shuttle?” Great, more uniforms. An security officer of some sort was pointing at her little ship.

“Yeah?” she said, getting up and dusting some wet sand from her knees.

“You can’t park it on the beach.”

“Why not?”

“It’s not allowed.” 

“I don’t see why not. There’s plenty of room.”

The officer sighed, and began pressing buttons on his omnitool, waving it over her in a scan. “First time on Earth?” He asked, as what appeared to be her file popped up on his arm. The picture that had just been taken was rotating slowly, and there were a few lines of text. “From the… Traverse?”

“And a bit further. What happens if I don’t move my shuttle?”

“The city will move it for you you, and you’ll have to pay a substantial ammount of money to get it back.” She didn’t know what he meant by ‘the city’-- how could a city move a shuttle? And how could she pay a city to get it back?

“Oh,” she managed feeling ignorant and slightly belligerent. “I’ll… uh… move it, then.” You could park anywhere on Omega-- of course parking in the wrong space, or being in the way could get your car wrecked or you killed, but the beach had been wide open and she didn’t appear to be in anyone’s way.

“Well, Nym Shepard, this beach has rules and if you want to continue to enjoy it, you are going to have to move your shuttle. Welcome to Earth.”

His Omnitool printed a little ticket and he pressed it into her hand: it listed the time, date, location, and the offence, as well as a small fine. 

Nym put it in her pocket and dripping with wet sand and ocean water, went to move her shuttle to one of these “designated craft parking areas.” Turns out she had to pay for that, too, just like the elevators on the Citadel. 

~~~

It took a few weeks for Nym to get used to regulations, though “used to” was not exactly the word she’d use. Exploring Rio she was always looking over her shoulder, wondering what rule or regulation she was about to break, or if someone was going to yell at her, or laugh at her. 

She visited major historical sights like the big Jesus statue which was somehow managed to be both incredibly impressive and fully ridiculous. She also looked at lots of human art, and read lots of historical details about the city. She met normal people who didn't lock their doors at night. She found out that people went "SCUBA diving" to explore under water and went out under the waves often, fascinated with the marine life she found, exploring reefs with other divers and being shown around sunken crafts of both wood and metal. It was like space exploration, sealed in self contained enviro suit, but instead of void, she was suspended in liquid and there was life... everywhere. Most nights, she haunted the beach, hypnotized by the crash of waves and hiss of sand and fascinated by the bare skin of bathers. She still wore her stained and travel worn jumpsuit, though she’d recently discovered this thing called t-shirts and a bathing suit, and was working up the nerve to try out the skimpy one she’d bought by having a few drinks at a beach side bar. 

“--And then, the damn fool starts charging for the LZ and thought Harvard was covering his six, but Harvard was busy repairing his venting O2 line, and they didn’t bother to talk to each other. That’s the difference between an N1 and and N2. Never expect anyone to cover for you, and always get conformation.”

Shepard peered over at the lazy, authoritative voice. Some of those soldiers in black, like the ones she’d seen on her first day on the beach were sitting around a table, drinking and joking. The man who spoke was dark skinned and had a big, shaved head-- he was burly and would have been intimidating except Nym saw a spark of kindness in those eyes. The soldiers, a mixture of human genders and races, were all nodding or laughing or muttering. One was even taking notes. 

“What’s N1?” she called out, feeling bold and curious. The man who’d told the story glanced over-- she was a table away so there was no need to shout. 

“Interplanetary Combatives Training,” he said. “N-school. Makes the toughest sons-of-bitches in the galaxy ready for action. Right soldiers?”

“Hoo-rah!” They yelled as one, and the bar went quiet. Nym jumped at their collective, controlled shout and someone from another table giggled. 

“So, like commando training?” Her eyes lit up. 

“Something like that. You have to be part of the Alliance. Then you have to kick ass.”

Nym grinned. Sounded like fun to her. She’d already done some space survival training with Aria’s commando contacts, though nothing with combat included. Bombardments, asteroids, and O2 lines and… the Alliance. That part didn’t sound great. So many regulations. Her girn turned into a frown.

“Alright Marines, play time’s over. Pickup is at 0500.” There was a collective groan, and Nym wondered at their comradery-- she’d never really seen a group of adults so happy to be around each other before. There was some playful shouting and jostling as the soldiers paid for drinks and filed out of the open-sided bar.

The older man got up and Nym watched him warily. “May I join you?” She shrugged.

“Name’s David Anderson. Alliance Navy. Interested in becoming a Marine?”

“I’m from the Terminus Systems,” she informed him by way of an answer. 

He looked surprised. “Ever been to Earth before?”

“This is my first time. I’ve never seen so much water in one place.”

David Anderson smiled. “It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” She nodded, staring out into the darkening horizon. The crash of surf was endless and roaring, and it made her feel like she could fall or float forever in that space between sea and sand. God, she loved the ocean. “What’s your name?”

“Nym Shepard.” 

“Well, Nym Shepard. Do you have any questions about it all? Earth? The Alliance?”

Nym stared at him, wondering if her translator was glitching. He was just being friendly, she knew, but it was downright offensive the way people treated her when they found out she was from beyond the Traverse, out of the Alliance’s reach. It was like she was a lost lamb who’d come back into the fold-- except she wasn’t lost, and she didn’t need pity or help or guidance, and she damn well didn’t have any questions for this self-important soldier, no questions except for one.

It burned out of her chest and sat on the table between them, writhing. “Where was the Alliance after Mindoir was attacked?” 

Anderson was studying her intently, but she didn’t drop her defiant glare, didn’t blink, didn’t twitch a muscle. He sighed, the first to look away.

“Mindoir… that colony was hit, what twelve years ago now? I was in the Verge at the time. First responders took too long to get there. When they finally did, everyone was dead or gone.”

 _Don’t you dare call it a tragedy._ She wasn’t sure what she’d do if he called it a tragedy. She was breathing hard through her nose, gripping the glass brimming with rum and soda so the condensation ran between her fingers. “You didn’t even try to find them?” 

Anderson’s eyes didn’t leave Nym’s face, and some part of her brain registered that he was speaking to her as an adult, an equal, and not as a child-- and he was speaking forcefully, with conviction. “There was nothing we could do. The batarians were like smoke, and we had to reinforce other colonies unless we wanted to lose them too.” 

“Platitudes,” Nym hissed. That was one of Aria’s favorite words to throw around, and she thought it was fitting her.

“Perhaps. Perhaps humanity needs to slow down. Perhaps we shouldn’t establish what we can’t protect. Were you there, on Mindoir?”

“I was five,” she said simply. He waited, a long pause stretching between them, clearly wanting her to go on. “I was saved by a batarian salvage crew, and brought to Omega. Now I’m finally on Earth, just to see what the big deal is. That’s the whole story.” 

His omnitool lit up and the fabricator spit out a card with some information printed on it. _Commander David Anderson, Alliance Navy. Executive Officer, SSV Einstein. N7 delegation, trainer._ Below his credentials were a few ways to get in contact. “If you ever need anything, Nym Shepard, just let me know. Colonial Affairs will want to know you’re alive, by the way. They may pay you repatriations.” He got up, and pushed his chair in carefully. “And if you’re ever looking for a way forward in life, the Alliance could use people like you. People who know what it’s like out there, and who care about the people they’re sworn to protect. Think about it.” He gave her a salute, and walked out into the gloom of the beach, away from the light of the bar.

She did think about it. She thought about it for several days. She toyed with the card. She threw it away. She fished it out of the garbage and put it in her pocket with her “parking ticket.” 

In the end, she couldn’t do it. Nym was young, but she wasn’t an idealist. She saw herself enlisting, saw herself in uniform, trained to go where she was pointed to by the Alliance and never, ever question if it was the right thing or not. Maybe if she’d been an idealist, she would have joined up with the intent to change things like Anderson suggested-- make the Alliance see how damaging their colonization in the Traverse was to human lives and human culture. How much was at stake. But Aria had beat idealism out of her long ago, and now she was simply a paranoid biotic teenager with the scales removed from her eyes at a young age. Earth was amazing, the Alliance was powerful, but neither would ever be her home.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was going to make this a whole training chapter to explain how Shep gets her soldier skills, but I just don't have it in me. Hand wave! On to OmegaShep's juicy 20s in the Terminus systems.

**2172 CE: Age 18, Illium**

Aria had miscalculated.

Her love of power always meant that she needed to be on top, and she’d crawled over the backs of writing masses to get to where she was. She’d bested those more powerful than she, increasing her own holdings and placing collars and strings on them in the form of favors and fealty. She cowed a krogan warlord and made him an example of the power she wielded, giving him a new name that mocked the very premises of gender in _both_ their cultures.

But Nym Shepard… she was another story. She’d miscalculated regarding Nym because… well... Aria actually cared about the girl, and wanted what was best for her. It wasn’t about power after a certain point. Not anymore. She’d given her the best in that case, the best biotics, the best training she could get on Omega, the shuttle, the hangar. There were always spare credits. She’d given her something else that was more precious than all of it combined, however. She’d given her…. freedom.

It was time to redirect this trajectory to one that would be a bit more controllable.

From her couch, Aria made a call to a planet she’d never thought she’d even utter the name of.

Earth. Fucking Earth. She was calling Earth.

“How’s the homeworld.”

Nym’s voice sounded bored. “Crowded. Never seen so many humans in once place. The ocean is cool though. Omega should get an ocean.”

“Charming, but I don’t know where we’d put it. Listen girl, I’ve got a new opportunity lined up for you, if you think you’re ready for it.” The best way to get Nym to do anything was to present it as a challenge that she wouldn’t be able to overcome-- Nym was a sucker for impossible odds.

“Up for what?” Nym sounded wary, but curious. Just where Aria wanted her.

“Oh, doing some training on a little planet called Illium.”

“Seriously?” There was a pause. “What kind of training.”

“I’ve found some Eclipes sisters who owe me several dozen favors. This is coming a great personal cost to me, Shepard, so don’t fuck it up.”

“What is it, Aira?” Nym was started to get frantic with curiosity and Aria knew she had her primed. Push any more and the girl would grow disinterested just through sheer frustration.

“Commando training. The real deal.”

The line was silent, and then Nym laughed. It took a few tries to convince her she was serious, but when she did…. “I’ll be home in a month.”

“Don’t come to Omega. Go straight to Illium. An asari names Veromia will meet you-- just send a comm message once you get through the relay.”

There was a long silence. “Why would an asari train me?”

“Two reasons. First, I fucking paid them to. Second, I sold them on your biotics. Don’t fuck this up.”

“I won’t, Aria.”

“Good girl.”


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: There's a small sex scene in the first section of this chapter.

**2175-2180 CE: Scenes from the Terminus**

Shepard careens down the alien slope, away from the last set of demo charges, a shower of rust colored rubble and buckshot spraying in her wake. She feels the impact of the shot from some crossfire, but her shields hold. Not for much longer.

But it’s not much further, either.

“Shuttle’s at the LZ, coming to give you backup,” a gruff voice with an Earth accent crackles over her comm. That must be her pickup crew.

She runs hard towards the shelter of rocks where the guy on the comm is taking cover, and suddenly she’s tripping over a bit of rebar and starts to tumble bonelessly through the air… but instead of thudding to the ground and getting riddled with bullets, she propels forward with such velocity that it’s like she was launched from a slingshot, nerves singing with biotics, and she blinks and is hunched behind the rock she’d been running to.

She sweats more in that moment than she has in her entire life. Her nerves are on fire. She’s exhilarated. She just fucking _teleported!_ The new amp clearly had some surprises. _L3, where have you been all of my life?_ She has to get on a comm and tell Aria. The thought intrudes and ruins the moment. She feels like laughing, then crying.

“The fuck was that? Goddamnit, get the fuck down, kid!” A gruff voice reminds her that she’s still in the middle of a firefight, and the slavers are pressing down the hill. She drops into cover, grinning like a maniac at the merc with the glass eye and the scars carving his face like a canyon.

“Did you see that?!” She ducked out of cover and sighted the gap between a Blue Suns’ neck and his helmet.

“You flew, kid. Sure you’re not asari in disguise?” The craggy merc with the glass eye stares at her, grinning. She grins back, feral.

“Positive.”

“Too bad.” Is he flirting with her in the middle of a firefight? He’s not awful looking, she thinks-- rough competence that is frankly charming. He chuckles and let a spray of fire out over the rocks. “Think you can do it again?”

She thinks of the feeling of tripping and then instead of falling, flying. “Yeah, I’ve got a feel for it.”

“Put down some cover fire for me while I get to the LZ, then zap yourself over.”

“Aye aye, sir.”

“Don’t fuckin’ sir me, sweetheart. It’s just Zaeed.” He hefts is old rifle, getting ready to run. Damn, that thing was older than she was.

“Don’t fucking sweetheart, me, sir,” she spits back, but gives him cover just the same, and then she thinks of tripping and flying, she’s launched herself to the LZ. This time she’s done it on purpose and she can see the whole of time and space slow down and groan around her as she bends it to her will. Then she’s standing still again, crouched and feral, snarling. She is high on biotics and Zaeed grins at her and she knows what she must look like-- hair a wild tumble of fire, cheeks flushed and damp with sweat, and eyes flashing with adrenaline and pure triumph as a nimbus biotic lightning flashes across her armor and fades. She feels like a goddess.

“You're the most goddamn glorious woman I’ve clapped eyes on in a decade,” he says, lurching into the waiting shuttle as she throws herself in behind him.

“Can’t be easy to spot them when you’ve only got one eye.” But she grins, raising her chin proudly and falls into a seat beside him as they take off.

Twenty minutes later and she’s back to the merc transport ship, heading to the relay, but there are a few hours yet before the merc cruiser makes the jump. Zaeed is with her in the maintenance room, and door lock is lit red.

“Why d’you have goddamn asari commando armor?” He growled as he helped her out of it. His pauldron clatters to the floor.

“Maybe because I’m a goddamn commando.” She pushes him on to the console and climbs on top, kneels above him, her legs pinning his shoulders down and her hands pull his head between her legs. She’s saying filthy, wonderful things as she rides his face while his hands alternately grab and slap her ass.

A few light years away, the demolition charges go off, and three dozen Blue Suns die on a barren and rust red planet.

~~~

What the hell was thinking? Following a lead on some flesh trafficking into the Skylian Verge had seemed like a good idea at the time, but now she’s caught in the middle of what appears to be a massive pirate raid on humanity's colonial jewel.

She’d stopped to resupply and do repairs on Elysium, and stayed an extra day in order to take in the sights-- Shepard could admit that she was a bit of a galactic tourist. She liked learning about places, what made them tick, what people tried to hide.

She is down in the lower markets, sampling some local produce grown by the farms a few hundred clicks from Elysium's capitol when the pirates hit.

There’s a general panic. The scene is classic, just like in the drama vids: Goods go flying as stalls overturn, children screaming, parents calling their names. People start trying to find safe places to hide, but Shepard knows that this is no ordinary raid.

The raiders come pouring out of their ships and spread out to take the city, and above the fields of Elysium the skies boil with dogfights, punctuated by explosions. There is shelling too, the air screaming, ground suddering as it’s torn apart by enemy artillery.

Shepard goes to find cover, urging a few civilians into the relative shelter of a nearby store. They’re pinned down there, her and a half dozen others. She’s the only one in armor, but several of them carry handguns.

“Hey, hey!” She was shouting for them to be quite.

“Where’s the Alliance?” “We’re doomed!” “We need to get out of here!” “The Alliance will save us!”

“Alliance soldiers are probably a bit busy being shot at at the moment. I'm all you get!” she snaps.

“Who are you?”

“I’m… I fight slavers. I know what I’m doing.” Shepard has half a mind to join the soldiers on the front, but her first concern is getting these people to safety. The storefront they are in is defensible, with three sides granted clean sight lines into the wide open market space and the back of the building facing down a hill, making an assault that way slow going and deadly. “You, with the guns,” she snaps at the three who were armed. “You get to windows with good sights, and you cover me. I’m going to bring more people in here. Anyone with medical training?”

A man raises his hand, trembling. “Get ready for casualties.” She isn’t going to sugar coat it. The she’s away, out the door and the armed citizens are giving her suppressing fire as she sneaks through cover and points civilians to the store where they are making a stand.

She loses a few, but saves a lot more. The pirates die, or retreat, and the Alliance names a man, Lieutenant John Fisher, the hero of the Skyllian Blitz. He'd mobilized the front with both colonial and Alliance firepower, coordinating forces into small strike teams and keeping the raiders from incursing deeply into the city, all very brave and heroic. Shepard watches him get a commendation-- a Star of Terra, over the extranet when she finally gets back to her ship and sets a course for the Armstrong Nebula. Not even the Skylian Blitz can keep her from hunting slavers for long.

Later, she gets an extranet message from one of the people she’d helped hide in the market store.

_“I don’t know who you are, but you saved my life, and the life of my child during the Blitz. We would have panicked without you. You’re clearly not with the Alliance, and we never got your name, but I grabbed this public ID from your omnitool just so I could say thanks. I wish I could tell someone what you did for us, or how you knew just what the slavers were up to, always one step ahead. Lieutenant Fisher might be the hero of the Blitz, but you kept a lot of innocent people from being taken that day too. We won’t forget.”_

~~~

There are too many liberated slaves on Torfan for her to fit in her little Corvette, and she doesn't want to wait for the Alliance. It's her first mission with the damn thing and already it’s too small. The _Plain Jane_ , she named the little starship. PJ for short.

She hides the twenty-odd slaves in a nearby bunker. They are cagey and silent and don’t trust her, but she convinces them help is coming, and finds a defensible position, and sits pretty on the edge of the hanger. She has a crew of one, an asari maiden named Ceirea who’d been captured by slavers twenty years ago and has spent her escape and her liberty acting out her wild revenge fantasies by being Shepherd’s co-pilot and backup. She’s a decent shot. Now she’s at at the the PJ’s controls, refueling at the refinery half a click off and monitoring the comm.

“Shepard, we have contact with a Council vessel. The signatures check out, I don’t see anything...fish?” Shepard was teaching Ceirea human idioms to pass the time.

“Fishy.”

“Fishy. Patch them through?”

“Go head,” Shepard says, leaning her head into her palm so she can hear a bit better.

The comm crackles and a dual toned turian voice says, “Kryik here, responding to emergency distress signal requesting pickup of sensitive cargo. You’re using custom encryption keys. What is your name and affiliation, soldier?”

“Shepard. Freelancer.”

“Shepard? You deal with slavers in this sector, right? I’ve heard of you.”

“Right. That’s me,” she responded dryly. “What’s _your_ designation and destination, soldier?”

“Citadel.” There’s a long pause. “Council Specter.” Her omnitool lit up with Specter authority codes.

Oh, shit. Cool. Shepard’s mouth opens a little, involuntary. “I-- I have twenty slaves here, human and… and asari, that need transport out of the Traverse. Can you call for backup or find transport? My craft is too small.” She hated that there were asari here. That meant one thing: sex trafficking.

“Affirmative. Prepare for pickup in three hours. Kryik, out.”

The comm when silent and Shepard begins to do the grim work of cleanup, counting bodies. She drags the slavers to one pile well outside the bunker she’s holding… there are eight dead, half thanks to an accidental explosion. She sets the pile on fire with some tank fule she’d found in the bunker. She The other pile is smaller, slaves caught in crossfire. These things can’t be helped, of course. One of the bodies is that of young child. She didn’t know who’s bullet caught the kid, right across the temple, her’s or a slaver’s.

Shepard wanders down wind of the burning bodies and toes the dirt. “Ceirea, when you bring the PJ around, can you grab that shovel?” She counted, did the math. Three hours till Kryik got here? Plenty of time to dig four graves.

~~~

“I’ve got a present for you, Shepard.” Nihlus's self satisfied tone tells her all she needs to know. It's going to be a good one.

She’s in her usual place on his ship, has been since dry docking the _Plain Jane_ and hopping onto his crew three months ago, down in the Cargo hold where it’s dark and she can feel the hum and crackle of the ship’s eezo core while she works. Sometimes she thinks her nervous system resonates with the core, biotics humming a sympathetic tune along with the ship’s drive. As for work, she does a bit of everything, but Nihlus has a crew for the important things, so mostly she modifies weapons and experiments with new configurations. She’d never been a great technician though-- most of her projects are half finished, and she breaks or loses half the junk she takes apart. Always better and breaking things down than putting them back together, that was Nym Shepard: whirlwind of destruction.

“Present?” She looked up from the stun-whip she’d been repairing. Cerberus had some nasty surprises, and Shepard was fairly sure she’d cracked a rib disarming the soldier who’d jumped her with the thing. Sweet consolation prize though. She dropped the stun whip and turned to see what Nihilus had in store for her.

He held out a gun case, and she hefted it, clearing a space on her workbench to place it there carefully. A screw drops and rolls somewhere inaccessible. “Should I be worried?”

“No, but everyone else should be.”

She flipped the lid open, and nestled in the black foam of the crate was a shotgun. The most beautiful shotgun she’d ever seen. It was a krogan shotgun, custom scaled to fit her smaller size and lighter than it had any right to be so it wouldn’t shatter her arm with kickback when she fired it.

“Oh, my god.” It is the most beautiful thing she’d ever seen.

“I don’t understand why you humans swear by a divinity that you don’t believe in.”

“Shut up, Kryik, it’s just an expression. This is incredible. What’s the alloy?”

He goes off about some ultralight materials and illegal mods, but she only half listened, studying her gift with eyes of wonder before she lets her fingers trace the harsh curves and gleaming fixtures.

“So, I’m gonna get to test this out soon, right?”

“We’ll be at the Citadel in a few hours. How does the Specter shooting range sound?”

“You spoil me. I’m gonna go soft.”

“Oh, Shepard,” Nihlus sighed. “You’re human. You’re already soft.”


	11. Chapter 11

**2181: Age 27, Citadel**

“Tell us about your childhood, Shepard.”

The salarian woman sat across from Nym, an expanse of cold chrome desk between them. She held a datapad, and a red light blinked slowly, indicating that it was making a recording. The room where they did the psych evals for new Specter candidates was barren, and a two-way holo-mirror reflected Shepard’s image back at her: a plain, lanky woman with curly auburn hair and freckles, dark skin and steel-cut eyes. Behind the glass and her reflection she knew others were watching and listening: Nihlus and Tela Vasir among them. 

“It was pretty uneventful. I had a lot of freedom.”

“It says here you were raised on Omega?”

“That’s where I was brought after the attack on Mindoir. I was five.”

“That must have been traumatic for you.”

“Mindoir, or Omega?” 

“Both. Either.” 

“I don’t really have a sob story, here,” she fronted. “Mindoir was hell, but I was five. I barely remember and it’s left me with certain strong opinions about slavers that the Council seems to approve of. Omega was probably no better or worse than being an orphan in any slum in the galaxy. Nothing special.”

“I see,” said the salarian, making a note on the datapad. “Did you have anyone that you considered family?”

“Other kids, sure. A lot of them disappeared.” Forean had disappeared. “A woman named Anika was my primary caregiver, for what that’s worth on Omega. She cared for a lot of the orphans in Gozu-- that’s a residential district.” Grains of truth, chasms of omission. 

“Is she still alive?”

“Last I heard. Still running the way-house and keeping kids off the streets as much as she can.” Another note went on the datapad. 

“You’ve had significant genetic and some cybernetic modifications, at a fairly young age. Your biotic implants were placed prematurely for humans. Can you tell us about those?”

Shepard shrugged. “It’s hard to track what Conatix was up to in the Traverse when I was 13-- what year was that…. 2167? My biotics were wildly unpredictable at that age, and a researcher found me. I was lucky they just wanted to place an amp and monitor me. Like I said, kids, especially biotic kids, tended to disappear.” That was the weakest point in her lie, and Nym knew it. If it hadn’t been for Aria’s protection, Nym would have been spirited away to some secret lab and experimented on-- it could have been Conatix, Cerberus, the Alliance… slavers. 

But Aria had done similar things, introducing gene therapy along with the biotic amps so she’d heal faster and react more quickly than the average human. Combined with combat sims, daily biotic training, hand to hand instruction, and target practice, Aria had been in the process of creating quite the little criminal for herself. In so many ways, Nym had been better off, with more safety, and more freedom to develop along her own path under Aria’s watch on Omega then she ever would have been with the Alliance or some biotic eugenics firm. Aria valued freedom, and gave it to Nym like an accidental gift. 

“Some of these modifications were not legal, either at the time, or even presently.”

“They happened outside Council space, when I was below the age of consent by any species’ standards.”

“Another note here says you were trained by asari, on Illium? Why not enlist while you were on earth in… what was the year….2171?”

 _Hoo boy, here we go. Time to get political._ The datapad was still flashing red-- making a recording.


	12. Chapter 12

**2183: Age 29, Unnamed Moon, Terminus Systems**

“We ha... b-- n...s, Shep--d. Ag... Nihilus is ---ead.” The comm crackled sharply, and Shepard tried to adjust her connection. All she got from that was her mentor’s name, and her morbid brain was trying not to fill in the gaps.

“Say again.”

“Nihilus is dea--.”

She was docked on some tiny spaceport on a barren rock, deep in the Terminus systems, reading for an assault on a refinery that used slaves for labor.

He’d said Eden Prime was vital, and secret, and that he’d be back to help her with the bust ring they were working on in no time, but he had to do this. Council’s orders. Besides, he wanted to scope out another human Specter nominee, this Commander Fisher guy, hero of the Skyllian Blitz, and had every intention of coming back to let her know she’d blow away the competition.

Turns out Nihlus got blown away instead. 

She fiddled with the control on her dash, trying to get a better link to the comm buoy. Ah, there was some reception. 

“Channel clear.” 

An officious voice was pouring out pure garbage into her ear, filling her up with a feeling of total numbness. “As your sponsor, Nihilus was responsible for your activities. You must return to Citadel Space if you wish to continue your candidacy-- otherwise you may withdraw your name.”

She felt a neural flare coming on and took a deep, unsteady breath. Her entire body pounded in time to her pulse, nerves flaring into little blue sparks on her skin.

The little moon she was on didn’t even have a name, but it did have an extensive network of underground tunnels, a HE3 extraction operation, and way too many slaves. She'd heard rumors that Aria had invested in this operation, which made her even more determined to end the slavery going on here. She continued to work on the hack module she needed to get through to bust into the slaver’s comm system. She was running low on omni-gel. Time to improvise. Her team stood by, waiting for orders. 

“I’m a bit busy, here. Send me the report. I’ll be on the Citadel for the funeral.” 

Nothing outward about Shepard changed after that comm call. Nihlus was dead, and that was that. She’d told him Eden Prime gave her an itch right between her shoulder blades but he was not dissuaded. Council’s orders. She could not come as backup-- too many touchy Alliance types, Commander Fisher among them.

Shepard sort of blacked out then, but when she came to, the body count was high, and the number of biotically snapped necks and limbs was disproportionate to gunshot wounds. Shaking slightly, showing signs of heading into neural shock, she made a few calls to her network, setting up a trade-drop of heavy turrets and some mechs to guard the refinery, purchased by the funds willed to the slaves by their ex-masters. Shepard was the executor of those wills of course-- no need to get lawyers involved. She offered a ride off the moon for any slave who wanted one. Most chose to stay. There was money here, and soon they'd have guns.

Then, she got the hell out. She had a funeral to go to.


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Remembering Aria's list from her childhood, Shepard makes her own to serve as a guide in the wake of Nihlus' death.
> 
> I will update this as I think of more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Want more OmegaShep, and some Archangel action? Check out "So You'll Aim Towards the Sky," the next installment in the Alpha & Omega series.
> 
> Find me on Tumblr at http://asari-tears.tumblr.com/

**Shepard's Rules**

Rely on yourself first. Others will follow.  
Mixing humor and violence confuses people. Confused people make mistakes. Be funny.  
Don’t be a joiner: systems will always slow you down, no matter how much they offer.  
Don’t act without an objective, even if that objective is simply “to win.”  
Collateral damage is acceptable when the outcome benefits more people than it harms.  
Kill, steal, cheat, lie. Just do it for the right reasons.  
Get involved, but don’t stick around.  
Don’t flinch away from the difficult things you find, or the impossible things you must do.


End file.
